


analogous

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M, episode-related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-10-12
Updated: 2002-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-01 10:22:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/355546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whitney is acting out sexually and hurting people in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	analogous

## analogous

by ktbaxter

<http://kylebaxter.com>

* * *

Title: Analogous  
Author: kyle baxter   
ktbaxter@msn.com   
Distribution: List archives OK, anyone else just ask.  
Archived on FF.net  
<http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=171995>  
Spoilers: Spoilers for season one.  
Classification: Whitney/M, Whitney/Clark??  
Summary: Whitney is acting out sexually and hurting people in the process.  
Rating: NC-17  
Feedback: Very much appreciated.  
Disclaimer: Both the show and the characters belong to someone else namely AOL Time/Warner. God knows I'm not making any money on this. 

1\. 

Whitney let the long legs fall off his shoulders and thrust harder into the willing ass. He grunted, and the boy beneath him moaned. The long legs wrapped around Whitney's waist causing him to smile. He liked that. Whitney loved the feel of long legs wrapped around him holding him in. 

The recipient of his thrusts, Clay Webster, jerked furiously on his own cock. After long minutes Clay let out a strangled sound. He came in a high arc shooting his load over his long torso. The sight spurred Whitney on even more. His breathing got shallow, and he pounded faster into Clay. Clay grimaced. Finally crying out, Whitney collapsed on top of him, filling the condom. They lay there for a few minutes intertwined. Their breathing was ragged and labored. 

Clay kissed at Whitney' neck. He aimed another kiss at Whitney's mouth but missed as he pulled away. Whitney rolled off him and onto the grass. Clay gasped sharply as Whitney's fat cock popped out his ass. He turned his head and looked at the quarterback. If Whitney had dared return the look, he would have been amazed at the adoration in Clay's eyes. At least he didn't call me Clark this time, Clay thought and looked up at the sky through the tree. He dozed off in the lazy shade of the elm. 

Clay woke up to see Whitney walking out of the water and onto the shore. Bade deep in the lake he emerged slowly. Clay blinked his eyes. Whitney was beautiful, well formed, and masculine a real head turner. He had a deep chest with a sparse dusting of blond hair turning darker at the pubes. The hair on his head was thick and golden, perpetually an unruly mop. And the cock, the cock was a story all it's own. 

"Webster, you ever mention this to anyone, and you are through." Whitney said sitting down. He deliberately looked at anything other than Clay. Whitney absently began throwing small stones into the lake. 

How romantic, Clay thought, Fucking jerk. 

"I know Whit, I know." Clay said bitterly, "You say this every time. Give it a rest. Who would I tell anyway? This is Kansas. Cross the star quarterback and you could find yourself strung up in a cornfield somewhere." 

Whitney shot him an angry look and got up and stalked off. 

"That's right you could." Whitney called back angrily. He wiped away the tears streaming down his face. At the truck he began pulling his jeans on hurriedly. He wiped his face on his tee shirt before pulling it on. 

Clay ran to the truck and began pulling on his clothes as well. 

"Whit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." 

"Shove it." Whitney pulled on his boots and got in the truck. In the side mirror he surreptitiously watched Clay get dressed. He sighed deeply. 

Clay was tall, cute and pretty well built for a member of the basketball team. He had dark hair and quick lively eyes. He was a good guy. Great calves too, for a tall guy. Whitney liked Clay. He liked him a lot. But Clay wasn't... Fuck! Whitney thought and readjusted the mirror to look back at the lake. 

"Get it in gear Webster." He called. "I've got to get to the store." Whitney snorted. 

They drove in silence back to the town. 

Whitney thought about the day ahead. He would go and take over managing the store from Bob, then close it later... much later, alone. Then he would have to get home and spend at least an hour going over the store closing figures with his father. Hopefully, he would find time to get some studying in before bed. 

No time to train. He moaned. I'll have to get up at five again if I want to get a workout in. At least his on again/off again romance with Lana was back in the off position. He did not have to worry about making time for her and he could actually get sex now. 

Whitney loved Lana Lang. Or at least he had convinced himself he did. She was certainly the girl he should be with, just as surely as Quarterback was the position he should play. In truth, Whitney cared for her as much as he was able. He was hardly capable of caring much for anyone. He was too preoccupied with doing the right thing. Doing what was expected of him. 

He was a Fordman. And in the Fordman family appearances weren't everything: They were the only thing. His mother and Father and driven that into him every chance they got, whether or not they intended to do so. 

He glanced at Clay and shook his head. Clay was getting attached. Whitney knew it. That would never do. He had to end it. But what do I do then? Whitney looked into the rearview mirror at himself and grimaced. 

He ran his hand through his hair. It fell back over his forehead petulantly. Whitney thought suddenly about the new wrestling assistant coach. He was tall and dark haired. He was also hairy which Whitney found intriguing. He had also felt the coach's eyes on him in the locker room. Whitney smiled to himself. A new prospect. Maybe the week was looking up. 

Clay was let out in front of the Beanery. He watched Whitney drive away and knew that was the last of their swimming lessons. He sighed and marched into the coffee shop, books under his arms. Asshole, he thought and not for the last time. 

Clay passed by the table Chloe, Pete and Clark sat at. Chloe and Pete looked at each other knowingly. Clark noticed this and looked at them puzzled. 

"What was that?" He asked. 

"Just watching Whitney go through another friend." Chloe said sadly. 

"I don't get it." Clark said. 

"It's okay Clark, you don't need to." Pete said. He knew Clark had a blind spot and tended to react defensively where Lana was concerned. Pete was afraid that if he and Chloe told Clark their theory on Whitney; Clark would feel obliged to tell Lana. If they were still a couple, Pete would have agreed but not now. It was Whitney's business until he chose to share it. 

Pete had a gay uncle who lived in Metropolis. The man had experienced a host of problems when rumors about him had spread at work. Pete did not wish that kind of prejudice on anyone. Especially since they were all just now getting along. Pete did not want to ruin that. He had grown attached to the Tuesday lunch time pick up game with Clark, Whitney and Brent. Even Clark was enjoying the new-found "esprit de corps" that they all shared. 

"Okay. On that note I'm heading to the farm. Believe it or not, I have chores to do." Clark announced and walked out. 

"You know he always says that, but I've never actually caught him doing any chores." Chloe remarked. She glanced over to Clay. She thought he looked sad. 

"I know. And it seems like they always have work to do over there, but I've never seen Clark doing any." 

"Maybe he too has a deep dark secret." She smiled at Pete then turned back to watch Clay. "This one lasted longer than the others." 

"You think it's over?" Pete asked. 

"Yeah. But I was almost hoping Whitney had found a lasting... friend." 

"C'mon." Pete said getting up. And they left the Beanery together. 

In bed that evening Whitney wondered where it all fell apart. The year had started out so well. He had started dating the 'right' girl, Lana, over the summer. She was two grades behind him, which was unusual but hardly scandalous. Especially given that her Aunt Nell and his mother had all but arranged their marriage for them. 

They met, seemingly had the appropriate chemistry, and began dating. It was to great satisfaction for both families. Every thing seemed to be going well. Then came his trip to Metropolis right before school. It was a scouting trip with his father to check out University and the Metropolis Sharks. 

The trip went disastrously for Whitney. The trip was all about his father. His father's wants, his father's dreams, his father's unfulfilled ambitions. By the end of the drive onto the city he was already over wrought with his father's woulda, coulda, shouldas, and they had three days to go yet. 

Sunday afternoon he bailed. He forced in some free time for himself and went to the Metropolis University Library. He found the third floor bathroom. Whitney had heard rumors about it. The kind teenage boys always miraculously hear and repeat. 

He was not sure why he was there. Whitney was full of anger, frustration and full of fear. Almost unconsciously he entered the third stall, closed the door, and waited. He did not have to wait long. Soon, someone was in the stall next to his. He sat there expectantly. 

Whitney heard the man in the next stall whistle a tune. The whistling quit then a few minutes later the man tapped his foot and waited. Whitney had no idea what was going on. Then he noticed the hole. Then he noticed the finger tracing the edge of the hole. He leaned near the hole to look over. 

There was a young guy, maybe a few years older than Whitney on the opposite side of the partition. He was not bad looking. The man's face came near the hole. 

"Stick it through." The man whispered. 

Whitney made the sixty-mile ride to Metropolis almost every weekend that he could. He learned later of places in Smallville to go, but he was too scared to try. Too afraid someone in a tearoom would recognize him. 

Then the some thing else happened. Whitney saw Clark Kent. 

It happened one Saturday night in Temple. Whitney noticed Clark Kent with his mother, Martha. Whitney had never seen them there before. Whitney had to ask his mother who they were. He knew Clark Kent of course, but as a weedy, sickly boy. Clark was distantly related to Whitney the way everyone in a small town seems to be. Surely this was not the same boy. 

The Kents did not attend Temple any more than the Fordmans did. Both families were mixed marriages. Whitney was part Jewish and Presbyterian, and Clark was part Jewish and Baptist. Neither family was very stringent in their religious practices. The Fordmans attended both Temple and the local Presbyterian Church more out of appearance's sake than anything. The Fordmans true religion, it seemed to Whitney, was capitalism. Or perhaps it was narcissism, Whitney could not decide. 

The Kents were rarely seen at any church of any kind. They were a strange family, running a farm on the outside of town, eschewing company of any kind, and home schooling their son for his early years. Rumor had it that they had refused any medical help for Clark on one of the seemingly endless occasions when he got sick. The family was rarely seen at big social occasions in town much less Church or Temple. 

Whitney watched the Kents distractedly through the whole service. Clark was excited and looked around the room examining everything. He was like a kid in a candy store or a puppy on an outing. It was painfully obvious he had never been here before. 

Whitney lay in bed and finally drifted off to sleep still in his clothes. He often fell asleep this way now. Whitney's last thoughts were of Clark Kent. 

The next day after school Clay Webster waited for him at their rendezvous point. Day after day Whitney did not show. Clay was not surprised but he was still disappointed. He watched every day as Whitney drove past him on the way into Smallville. Tuesday he finally gave up waiting. 

Every day when Clay got home he went into his room and cried. Clay blamed himself and wondered what was wrong with him. 

Whitney waited until later the next week to make his next move. He was ready to try for his next conquest. He picked the one afternoon he had off from the store, Friday. Whitney went to the school gym late in the afternoon and worked out. 

"Fordman. Time to close up!" a voice called. 

Whitney smiled. It was the wrestling assistant coach, Coach Tyler. Whitney had checked the schedule to make sure who was closing up tonight. The coaches made sure they were the last out and that all the students had gone before they left for the night. 

Whitney took his time changing and headed to the showers. Mentally timing himself and trying to estimate when the coach would come back to check on him. 

Frustrated and angry Coach Tyler walked around the last row of lockers. 

"Fordman!" Tyler called and came into the foggy shower room. 

There was Whitney Fordman all tall, blond, gorgeous, and wet. He was soaping his chest. Turning around to face the young coach, he smiled. Whitney held his head back under the water so that it ran down him washing the soap away. Jutting out thickly his cock bobbed under the spray. Water traveled its length and ran off. 

Fordman looked up and into the coach's eyes. He glared at him almost menacingly from beneath heavy brows. Hefting his engorged cock he gave it a jerk and locked eyes with the coach for long seconds. Coach Tyler rolled his eyes and shook his head. Successfully stifling a laugh he turned and walked back toward his office. 

"Fordman get it in gear and get the hell out of here!" He shouted over his shoulder. 

Whitney Forman got dressed angrily. He made as much noise as humanly possible. He stalked out of the gym and to his truck. He climbed into the cab and fumed. Frustrated and angry, on the verge of tears, he looked into the rear view mirror at the gymnasium. In fury he set his jaw and put his truck into gear. He didn't have a coherent thought until he was on the freeway to Metropolis. He knew a rest stop that was usually hopping right about now. 

To be continued... 


End file.
